


I Miss Him

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coda to episode 10x01, Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Miss Him

You don’t miss his loving hands, because you have never known them.

You don’t miss his nearness, the cold kiss of air he leaves on your lips with a soft breath drawn in, so close, so close. You’ve never been that close.

You don’t miss his body, lying next to your own, a shield against the firm and press of the dark. You don’t miss the way he stretches his legs between yours, the strain and the softening of the muscles and sinews and tendons, for you were never so tender, never so true. You hid, and these things were never given to you.

You don’t miss the taste of his kiss on your mouth, the taste of his want, and the taste of your love on your tongue, on your lips, spilled and still spilling, still spreading, never-ending. You choked on it.

You choked, and dammed, and strangled back your certainty, forced it down your own throat with a swallow, two swallows, ten. You were born into this world with eyes of blue – blue in a chokehold, blue like your starvation, your silence. You suffered. Lately, you loosened your hold.

And when you say you miss him – when your fever brings the words back and back again like a tightening noose, I miss him, I miss him, I miss him – you don’t mean that you miss what might have been – what could have been – what should have been, oh, you choke on that, your heart is stretched and thin –

No, you don’t mean that you miss those pipe-dream tomorrows, they were a shot in the dark, and with a bullet made of fool’s gold; a star-gazer’s chance, slim enough to slit a cleft down your heart. They were your lilting song, your chosen haunting, when it was dark in the morning and in your desperation, in your fall, you wanted to believe for a moment that the world was softer, and kinder, and better than it was. They eased the ache behind your eyes, but you don’t miss them. You don’t. You can’t.

You cannot miss the tomorrows, because you miss the todays. The yesterdays.

You miss his loving eyes; you knew them. You knew them.

You miss his distance. You miss the lines drawn out between you, long lines, hard lines, aching lines, never-breaking lines. You miss the force of his heart, felt from afar. You never asked to be closer.

You miss his body, standing beside your own, one shoulder pushed back so that he faces you, almost. You miss the way he fought, the strain and bend and strain again of his muscles and sinews and tendons, for he was always so tensed, always so true. He hid, but he gave everything for you.

You miss the taste of your heart in your mouth, the taste of your want, and the taste of his love on your tongue, in the air, in his hands, never spoken. You breathed on it.

You were always one broken bridge away from each other, always too afraid to swim the waters that ran between. You knew you could not drink them down, you knew you’d drown – in one swallow, two swallows, ten. You were born into this world with eyes of blue – blue with the ocean, blue like the clear-seeming, light-bending waters, deep enough to hide your hope. You held back. You suffered. You loosened your hold.

And in your dying, in the passing that you have faced before, you miss the bastion thought – that castle-strong conviction that kept you free from fear – the one certainty that gave you bravery. You were strong in your heart and in your head. You had iron in your spirit. You were leaving a world with Dean Winchester still in it.

You cough, you cough again. Dean Winchester was here, was alive, was himself. He used to be. He used to give. He used to love. He used to carry on, and on, and on. And now, he is gone.

You miss him.


End file.
